


every time i run (i run to you)

by areyouevenrealbro



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Blood, Kissing, M/M, Potential Triggers, auston needs a friend, depictions of very minor violence, mitch can talk to his plants, vamp!auston, witch!mitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 18:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14816789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouevenrealbro/pseuds/areyouevenrealbro
Summary: Auston never asked for this. He never wanted this to be his life, but a stupid attempt to take a shortcut home from work stripped him of the choice.And like, how fucking cliche is that? If his life were a movie, it probably would have been the part when the audience screamed ”don’t go in there!”.(or, auston finds a home in mitch.)





	every time i run (i run to you)

**Author's Note:**

> hi yeah so this is not my best work and barely coherent but i can't make the words in my brain match what i type so this what i'm putting out there  
> also this is my second witch!mitch fic LOL
> 
> if you're confused, see the end notes and i'll summarize what happened
> 
> thanks for reading!!
> 
> title is from Where Do You Run by The Score

Auston never asked for this. He never wanted this to be his life, but a stupid attempt to take a shortcut home from work stripped him of the choice.

And like, how fucking cliche is that? If his life were a movie, it probably would have been the part when the audience screamed _”don’t go in there!”_.

But his life isn’t a movie. This is his reality, and it’s really bringing a whole new meaning to the phrase _”life sucks.”_

 

 

***

 

He’d thought the whole ‘vampire’ thing would get easier with time, but six months later and that hypothesis isn’t exactly shaping up to be all that he was hoping for.

Auston is bloody, limping, and so close to blacking out that the edges of his vision are black and fuzzy. You know, just a typical Tuesday for him. 

These three factors are what guide him off the street and through the copper-rimmed glass door of the brightly lit shop. The sign above the store labels it _Prophecy_ , and from what he can see it’s the only shop open on the strip. He really doesn’t have much of a choice; further down the street is a rowdy group of kids around his age, which he _so_ does not want to deal with, and-well. It’s not like he can go back the way he came.

So he stumbles in, clutching his side and devastatingly aware of how awful he looks, thank you very much. A bell above the door chimes a tune that he hasn’t heard before. It’s soft and unusual sounding; if he weren’t seconds from collapsing, he might laugh at it.

The store is brightly lit, salt lamps glowing warm and orange in one corner. Tall shelves stuffed with books line the walls, and waist high cases filled with everything from crystals to soaps sprawl throughout the room. 

“Sorry, we’re actually- _oh_ ,” a voice drifts through an open closet door, dropping off as the man it belongs to pokes his head out and gets an eyeful of Auston’s pitiful frame.

“Sorry” Auston grits his teeth and squeezes his side harder. “Just need to catch my breath.”

“Take your time,” the man slinks from the doorframe and approaches him slowly, like he might scare him off if he makes any sudden movements. Auston appreciates it. “Can I call anyone for you?”

“No!” Auston barks out, immediately regretting it when he feels like his throat is being ripped apart from the inside. He swallows as best he can. “No, don’t-don’t call anyone.”

The man circles him slowly, humming thoughtfully to himself as he examines Auston. Considering a bloody stranger just walked into his shop, Auston thinks he’s handling this considerably well. If he’s cool with this, he can’t imagine what else he’s had to deal with. “Would you like to come upstairs? To regroup, and maybe I can help you patch up.” He asks finally, shuffling his feet.

“That would be nice,” Auston says. He’s too polite to tell him that the blood isn’t his.

 

***

 

Everyone acts like the Hunger is something all-consuming. It’s bad, don’t get him wrong, but mostly it’s just irritating. The only thing Auston can compare it to is the need to pee (gross, he knows), honestly; manageable at first, but more and more uncomfortable as time goes on.

 

***

 

A cup of tea is set in front of him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Mitch asks.

He always asks that.

“Not really,” Auston says.

He always says that.

Mitch hums and stands, turning away from Auston to tend to one of the many plants hanging from his ceiling. His gray sweater drapes over him, moving and folding with his body as he flits about the room. Auston doesn’t think he’s ever seen Mitch without one; but he gave up on trying to make fun of his many oversized cardigans long ago. There’s really just no use; Mitch will only smile and gently prod the conversation in a different direction.

The cramped studio above _Prophecy_ feels like home now, what with the amount of time Auston ends up spending there. After especially hard nights, he returns to the shop-now with his very own key-and lets himself into the locked front door and up to the apartment above the shop.

Auston has his own apartment, sure, but it’s cold. It’s lonely.

Mitch always leaves the door open for him, no matter how many times Auston tells him to lock it.

( _“I can handle myself,”_ he had smiled wryly when Auston complained.)

When hit by cravings, or fatigue, or homesickness, he makes his way to Mitch; Mitch, who is always waiting with a cup of something hot for him when he arrived, as if he had known he was coming. Who has an apartment filled with hanging greenery that’s so thick in some places that he can’t see through to the other side of the room. Who has always accepted him with gentle words and soft hands that guide him in and soothe his own calloused, clammy pair.

Mitch, who not once has asked Auston to explain himself.

( _”Aren’t you curious?”_ Auston had asked once as Mitch draped a blanket over his shoulders and took his place on the other end of the couch. His hands were wrapped around a tea mug. He could see the ripples his shaking hands were causing in the liquid.

Mitch reached over and smoothed down a strand of his hair. _“As long as you’re safe,”_ he whispered. _“It doesn’t really matter to me.”_ )

Strangely enough, Auston is also never hungry after he visits Mitch.

 _Must be something in the tea_ , he muses.

The grandfather clock chimes from its place in the corner. Auston sighs, downing the last of his tea and rising from his seat. His back cracks in a few places, and a part of him somewhere deep inside his chest whispers _stay_.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says.

“So soon?” Mitch says.

He always asks that.

He makes his way back to Auston, ducking around pots and tangled vines, fisting his shirt in his hand and tugging him in once he’s close enough. Mitch touches him gently on the forehead, and then once more in the center of his chest. Auston feels his breath leave him.

“Come back.” He murmurs.

He always says that.

 

***

 

Auston lets the limp body slide from his grasp and onto the gravel of the alley. He can hear the wet _thud_ of the human’s still-beating heart as he props her against a brick wall. The sound of it is really the only thing keeping him from having a full blown panic attack. He takes her pulse and, satisfied, places her purse in her lap and strolls as unassumingly as he can out of there. He makes it to the main road and takes a left. He walks. He walks. He walks.

He’s outside of the abandoned warehouse before he realizes it. The place looks creepy, even to him; the windows are busted, the place is pitch black and dead silent. Anyone would turn tail and run as fast as they could.

If he had a choice, he’d turn tail and run as fast as he could.

Instead, he squares his shoulders and slips inside through the waist-high broken window. He braves the series of winding halls until he arrives at the familiar mess of rubble and dust. A low growl rings out across the room; the sound itself makes his blood boil. He’s so _angry_.

“You said I wouldn’t have to do this anymore,” he yells into the dark. “You said you only needed it one more time, and then you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

“Don’t be like that, baby.” A woman’s voice coos, sickly sweet. Her silhouette creeps from the shadows. Her posture reminds Auston of a snake coiled to attack.

“You told me,” Auston insists to her shadow. “I’m not doing this anymore, you-you can’t just use me like this.”

She moves fast; makes her way from the edges of the room where she had lurked to inches from Auston’s face. “You should be a little more respectful to your _mother_ ,” she hisses, eyes narrowed.

“You are _not_ my mother,” Auston bares his teeth in her face. “And you’re not my Mentor. You were the bitch that turned me, and now you’re the leech that feeds from me.”

The woman throws her head back and cackles. The sound makes Auston’s skin crawl. “You’re my Child,” she sighs when she finally stops. “And you’ll do what I tell you to.”

Auston takes two shaky steps back. The woman follows.

“If we’re playing the name game,” she lets her fangs elongate. “You’re my blood bag.”

Her teeth sink through the skin of Auston’s neck, and the gasp he lets out sounds horrible even to his own ears.

 

***

 

Mitch knows something is wrong the moment Auston walks through the door.

For the past few weeks, he’s been coming to him paler and paler, moving a little slower each time he sees him. His odd schedule and the fact that he’s always spattered in blood doesn’t particularly concern Mitch; it’s really more the fact that he can see Auston dying, but he can’t do anything to help him. He doesn’t know how to tell him without scaring him.

He makes sure to mix a little extra cinnamon bark into Auston’s tea tonight. He looks hungrier than usual.

His plants whisper to him as he passes. _He needs your help_ , they say. _What will you do?_

Mitch has always taken care of Auston; looked after him. That’s not about to stop now.

 _Whatever it takes_ , he whispers back.

 

***

 

He knows something is wrong. He knows he’s not supposed to feel like this; like he’s one step behind, like he could sleep for a thousand years. Like his stomach is eating itself most of the time, and his limbs are weak.

Like he’s dying.

Mitch’s teas aren’t working anymore. He can see the tension in the corners of his eyes when he pushes the half-full cup away, the way his scent sours when Auston leaves. His concern is tangible and there isn’t anything Auston can do to reassure him.

When he stands up from the table, he stumbles. He’s lightheaded and his legs shake and Mitch is at his side in an instant.

“Stay the night,” he nearly begs, resting a hand on Auston’s elbow to help him stand. “Please, Auston, you never-”

“I can’t,” he rasps. “I can’t, I have to-I have to go.” He maneuvers Mitch into him, getting his arms around his shoulders. Mitch let his palms splay out across the expanse of his back, tucking his face into his neck and melting against him. He doesn’t know how long they stand like that, hugging each other in the middle of Mitch’s kitchen. He never wants to let go.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” Mitch’s voice is muffled.

“‘Course,” Auston pressed his nose to Mitch’s temple. “I always do, don’t I?”

The air is thick with all that’s being left unsaid. He knows Mitch can feel it; Mitch knows he can feel it. They stay silent.

Mitch pulls back eventually, clutching the back of Auston’s neck close so that their foreheads touch. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

 

***

 

Mitch never lies to his plants; he’ll do what it takes to keep Auston safe.

 

***

 

For the first time in his undead life, Auston really thinks he’s about to die.

He’s aware that, in the past, he hasn’t drank enough to sustain the both of them; tonight, he barely has enough for her. She doesn’t care. He knows she doesn’t care. He’s going to be drained and left for dead in this warehouse and there’s nothing he can do about it.

God, and he _just_ promised Mitch that he’d come back to him.

The horrible feeling of teeth scraping at the junction of his neck forces a shiver out of him, her damp breath making his skin crawl. The concrete floor beneath him is hard and unforgiving; his back is cold where it’s pressed to her torso. He’s slumped backwards, laying against her; he’s too weak to hold himself up.

If he’s being honest, though, he’s accepted his fate. He’s made his peace with it, sent out a prayer and a silent apology to his mother. To Mitch.

He let his eyes close at the prick of teeth in his neck.

The sound of metal crunching into metal has Auston blinking his heavy eyes open blearily, searching for the source of the noise. The commotion forces the fangs in his neck to retract as the woman’s eyes narrow. The two of them swing their heads towards the sound to find-

_Mitch._

Head to toe in black, the smaller man had shed his cardigans and long sleeved shirts in favor of a sleeveless muscle tee that, in any other circumstance, Auston would have teased him relentlessly for. His arms are covered in thick swirls of black ink; patterns that Auston has never seen before glow gently. Shades of green fog seem to cling to his hands and forearms.

If his body weren’t totally focused on keeping him alive right now, he’s sure his mouth would have started watering.

“ _Cailleach_ ,” she spits at Mitch.

He snorts almost lazily. The green fog brightens in his palms. “Haven’t heard that before,” he muses. “What is that? Irish?”

Auston is, like, so confused right now. “Mitch you need to leave,” he tries to interject. He knows what this woman can do to him, and if Mitch gets hurt, he’ll-well. He doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Hush, Auston,” he doesn’t even look at him. His focus is on the woman as she slips her fingers around Auston’s neck and presses in.

“Come any closer and he’ll die,” she bares her teeth. Auston doesn’t doubt it either-the grip she has on him tells him that she’s dead serious-but the low tremor in her voice betrays her.

“Bold of you to assume that scares me,” Mitch bares his teeth right back, a twisted rendition of a smile. Behind Auston, a pipe crashes to the ground. Nails dig into the sides of his throat, and he has to gasp out for air.

The swirling fog in Mitch’s hands turns a sickly, putrid sage. “Let go,” he says and steps toward them.

A couple things happen at once.

The first is this: the nails in his neck dig in so far that he can feel blood running from where her nails had punctured the soft skin of his neck. The constriction has him struggling to pull in air; he can feel the tips of his fingers going numb with the pain. “ _Mitch,_ ” he gasps out.

The second is that Mitch steps closer still, murmuring under his breath as he approaches. Auston can hear the woman’s breathing pick up in his ear, labored. 

“Stay _back_.” Her fear is audible now. It amazes Auston, a little bit, that the gentle soul he’s come to know can put fear into the heart of a demon.

It’s also pretty hot, but-well. That’s neither here nor there, he supposes.

Anyways. 

Mitch’s voice rises, and Auston realizes with a start that he’s been chanting the entire time in a tongue foreign to him. Latin, maybe? It’s getting hard to focus on it; the tingling numbness in his fingers is rising through his wrists and into his arms, making them feel like lead. His head spins. 

The words falling from Mitch’s mouth seem to touch every corner of the room, resonating through the steel wasteland and dust blankets; through his own body. He feels oddly comforted by it, like he’s surrounded by Mitch himself. The pain in his neck ebbs away and is replaced by a comforting numbness-nothing like what his arms were experiencing-trickling through his torso until his whole body buzzes with a pleasant, floaty warmth. He sighs, a small smile taking his face.

“What’s going on,” the woman snaps. “Why’s he-why can’t I-”

“Don’t worry about him,” Mitch is so much closer now, his voice coming from right next to Auston. His eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, so he keeps them closed when he reaches a shaky hand out in the direction his voice had come from. The soft brush of fingertips to his wrist makes him smile harder. “This is between you and me, _vampiro_.”

He’d know that touch anywhere.

As soon as it’s there, though, it’s gone. “Sleep now,” Mitch says, next to his head.

Promptly, Auston does.

 

***

 

He comes to with a startled gasp, sitting bolt upright. He’s wrapped in layers of fleece. The ground is plush and soft underneath him and he has to look around frantically before he realizes where he is; Mitch’s apartment. On Mitch’s sofa.

A quick glance around the room tells him that no one is around. Auston is alone.

In Mitch’s apartment.

He feels at his neck for any sign that the night prior was real and not just a very elaborate and very vivid dream, but he feels nothing. No scabbing, no blood. Just the smooth expanse of skin.

He has to take a minute to, like, process and try to understand exactly _what_ had happened. He lets his head fall into hands and struggles to remember anything about the night before, but everything after Mitch had told him to sleep is just-empty. It’s all dark and Auston is scared and sore and not really understanding exactly what’s going on here.

He pushes himself off the couch and slinks to the bathroom, closing the door with a solid _click_ once inside, letting his forehead fall against the wooden frame and just breathing. When he finally faces the mirror, he’s almost surprised at how he look.

He’s… _fine_. No bruising, no scars, no wounds. He’s just as pale as he’s been since he was turned, and the bags under his eyes are no more prominent than they were the last time he looked in the mirror.

And yeah, he’s sufficiently freaked out, at this point. He’s not super sure what’s real and what’s not anymore.

He splashes cold water onto his face and swishes a cup of minty mouthwash around his mouth. Looking in the mirror is scaring him, so he shuts the lights off and does it all in the dark.

When he reenters the living room, he’s stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of Mitch.

He’s curled in an armchair across the couch where Auston had laid only minutes prior. His deep red sweater seems to swallow his frame, and his bare feet are tucked up and under his thighs. He looks small and sleepy, his hair tousled and knotted, rubbing gently at his eye with a pout. His spoon stirs the cup of tea he grips tightly in his other hand, moving of its own accord. The sound of it dragging around the rim echoes through the room.

As if he had sensed him standing there, Mitch looked up at Auston. He smiled blearily up at him.

And look, Auston’s heart hasn’t beat in a very long time, but he swears that if it did, it would have skipped at the soft, open look on his face. The moment is just too perfect, especially after all he had done for him last night. He’s struck by the realization that he wants this boy with magic dripping through his veins forever. He wants to wake in this apartment every morning for the rest of eternity. He never wants to leave him again; he’s done enough leaving to last him the next few lifetimes at _least_.

He’s ready to stay.

He can’t help himself; he’s across the room and sliding to his knees before he even realizes it. Mitch’s eyes widen and he straightens, letting his legs slide open so that Auston can kneel between them. With a flick of his wrist, his teacup is sailing steadily across the room, settling on the coffee table behind Auston with a soft _clank_.

He has to laugh at the absurd image. He’s laughing and he’s laughing and he can’t stop; he pushes his face into Mitch’s thigh and laughs. Soon, he feels Mitch’s body shaking with soft giggles as well. When he picks his head up, he has to bite his lip to keep from smiling too hard.

Mitch runs a finger across his forehead. “Good morning,” he smiles.

“Good morning,” Auston lets his eyes flutter shut at the feeling; fingers trace across his eyelids and down the bridge of his nose. “Was it real? Last night?” He whispers it. It feels like anything louder will shatter the delicate moment they’ve created.

Mitch hums. “Yes,” he says.

“What happened to her?” Auston asks.

“She won’t bother you anymore,” he says. His tone tells Auston that he’s not supposed to argue.  
Fingers trail from his nose down to run over his lips. He opens his eyes and is caught by Mitch’s, already watching him. He runs his hands up his legs, squeezing just above Mitch’s knees.

He can’t help himself; he wants him _so bad_. He presses a hand to the back of Mitch’s neck. “Mitch,” he breathes.

“Auston,” Mitch breathes back. “Aus-”

Auston cuts him off by dragging him down into a kiss. It’s everything he’s wanted since he first met him and more. He doesn’t think there’s any way that he can ever tire of this feeling in his stomach, or the feeling of Mitch’s mouth slick and wet, hot and tasting like herbal tea against his. His skin tingles when Mitch reaches down to pull him up and into him, right down into his lap. It’s a bit of an awkward fit, but Auston couldn’t care less. To him, this moment is perfect.

Across the apartment, the clusters of greenery breathe a silent sigh of relief. _Finally,_ they rejoice to each other. _It’s about damn time._

Mitch’s mouth is busy. He flips them off behind Auston’s back and ignores their giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so basically auston is turned into a vampire, and the person that turned him (i'm not creative so i never gave her a name LOL) sends him out to drink from people and then return back to her so that she can drink from him and she doesn't have to go out. this means that everything auston eats is being automatically drained from him, and he's not actually able to digest it, so he's really just starving to death. he meets mitch on his way home from one of these feeding sessions. mitch is a witch with a green thumb who can actually talk to the plants he grows, and he mixes a little bit of his magic into the tea he gives auston so that he's not so hungry anymore and he's able to survive. eventually, this magic isn't enough, and mitch takes matters into his own hands by going straight to the source-the woman that turned auston. i'll leave what he ended up doing to her up to your imagination, but i like to think that he cursed her so that she can never get close to anyone ever again (that way she can't make people do her bidding for her anymore)
> 
> translations!  
>  _Cailleach_ -witch (irish)  
>  _Vampiro_ -vampire (gaelic)
> 
> thank you so so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed!! leave a kudos/comment/bookmark if you did!!
> 
> find me on tumblr at @ohmymarnthews


End file.
